


Wolf Stories

by Quarra, xantissa



Series: No Wolves Allowed [4]
Category: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Adventure, Badass witchers doing badass things, Don’t copy to another site, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, Whump, Wolves also being bros, bros being bros, graphic depiction of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 02:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: The harpy contract was big enough for two witchers, so Eskel asked Geralt to come and help exterminate the feathered menaces. He did not expect his friend to look so different, nor did he expect the monstrous wolf following him like a puppy. When things go to hell, it’s up to Eskel and the strange wolf to find Geralt before it’s too late.





	Wolf Stories

**Author's Note:**

> From Quarra: Yet another installment! Mission fic is fun, and Eskel is the grumpiest person. 
> 
> This fic is set just a couple weeks after the events of No Wolves Allowed. You probably don't need to read that to understand what's going on, but it would help give you a lot of context for why there is a wolf following Geralt.

Eskel shifted against the tree he was leaning on, watching the shape of a rider approaching up the narrow road. He and Geralt made a deal to meet near the burned out mill at the foot of the wild mountains. It was just their luck to hunt harpies in the middle of winter in the Northern mountains. Normally he would have waited until spring at the very least but the nests were too big already. The creatures were venturing out to the human villages in search for prey.

As soon as the rider was in range, he raised a hand and waved. 

“Eskel! Wonderful weather you’ve dragged me out into today.” Geralt grinned at him from under his heavy hooded cloak, and slowed his horse in front of where Eskel sat.

“You complain like an old woman,” Eskel answered, looking at his friend and making sure not to react too obviously to the changed face. He’d already seen Geralt four nights before, in a tiny inn in Scavic, but the shock was still fresh. If it was only the lessened scar over his eye, Eskel wouldn’t be as affected. But he remembered a younger Geralt, one with the blush of youth still fresh on his face, and it was like facing a ghost of the past now.

“I feel like an old woman,” Geralt said with amusement, tucking his cloak in tighter around his armor. “You’d think with all our alchemy we would have figured out something to keep us a little warmer in the winter.”

“Yes, they’re called cloaks.” Eskel kept his voice as dry as a desert, and mounted up onto his waiting horse. The old cob was a sturdy little pony. Not very flashy, but durable, and canny on rough footing and dark trails. Perfect for a witcher.

“Ha fucking ha,” Geralt grumbled as he evened out. “This little trip is going to be a pleasure, isn’t it?” He sighed.

“They always are, aren’t they?” Eskel kneed his horse around and soon he and Geralt were riding in step together.

“How many queens, do you think?” Geralt asked as Eskel tried not to stare at the lines of his face. Gods, it was eerie how different he looked, and how much the same, too. The years had melted right off of him.

“At least two, maybe more, considering how many people got taken in the last few weeks. I have few places I suspect they might be nesting.”

Geralt nodded, all business. “I brought extra bags, the contract is fat, but we can make a mint on the feathers and the claws. It’s going to suck getting all of that down the mountain though.”

That was true, and with two witchers they actually had a fair chance of leaving corpses that were mostly intact. Better for gathering bits and parts. 

“That’s why we have horses.” He eyed Geralt’s dun mare, half expecting his horse to look strange as well. But wherever Geralt had been, whatever had happened to him, the rest of his trappings seemed normal as ever. 

Eskel took the lead and turned them straight up the mountain. 

He felt a fissure of tension make his neck tight and let go of the reins of his horse, freeing his hands. 

Something was watching them. Something monstrous.

Startled, Geralt looked around as well. Then he stopped to stare into the distance. It took Eskel a moment to figure out what he was looking at.

Far off in the snow covered twigs and dead trees was a white wolf. An _extremely large_ white wolf. No, scratch that. A damn horse pretending to be a wolf, and it just nosed its way out of the undergrowth. 

And was staring at them.

Eskel itched to grab his sword, but the beast was too far away. It wasn’t coming any closer though. Given the size of the thing he had to wonder if a crossbow would even make a dent in that hide. Eskel reached for it anyways.

But Geralt grabbed his hand before he could complete the action.

“No! It’s, uh, fine. That’s a...a...He’s not gonna hurt us. He’s just curious.” Eskel pretended to ignore the mumbled, “Probably,” that came after that. 

He stared at Geralt, who truly didn’t look alarmed at all. In fact, he looked pretty damn pleased. Maybe a little worried too, but mostly pleased. A curious combination indeed.

Eskel looked back at the wolf, or at least the thing pretending to be one. At the teeth that didn't even fit in the maw and poked out between the black lips. Then he looked back to Geralt.

“What is it?” Eskel asked.

Eskel had known Geralt for many, many years. So when Geralt looked at him out of the corner of his eye, Eskel knew right away he was going to lie. Well, maybe not _lie_ , but not tell everything he knew. Which, again, was quite curious.

“That’s a wolf, Eskel.”

“Yeah,” Eskel drawled. “Try again.”

The silence lengthened for a bit and Geralt turned to look at the wolf. The wolf just stared right back as if it were listening to them talk. 

“He’s nothing you and I need to worry about, though he might hang around for a while.”

Eskel frowned. “I heard you tell Ciri to gather up your friends. We’re all supposed to meet in a couple weeks time. This---” he side-eyed the wolf, “---beast wouldn’t have something to do with that, would it?”

“Don’t call him a beast,” Geralt snapped reflexively and then looked abashed at himself. Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all. “And…just wait ‘til everyone comes up to Kaer Morhen alright? No use getting into it twice.”

It rankled a bit to be left in the dark but he trusted Geralt. Eskel knew that if it was something dangerous, his friend wouldn’t hesitate to let him know. 

He was worried though. Something had happened. Something drastic. And while Geralt was known for having a soft spot for monsters, those didn’t usually reciprocate.

“Alright,” Eskel finally said. He made sure that Geralt could hear the reluctance in his voice. “Keep your secrets. But I want a full accounting at some point.”

With that Geralt shot him a grateful look and nodded. The two of them started walking again. Eskel was somewhat disturbed, though not surprised, to see that the wolf paced them, far off in the distance. 

Even if Geralt wouldn’t tell him what was going on, that didn’t mean that Eskel couldn’t try to tease a little more information out of him.

“That’s a very pretty wolf,” Eskel said offhandedly. 

Geralt choked on air and proceeded to cough for several minutes.

“If you can call a few hundred pounds of claws and muscles pretty,” Geralt shot back hoarsely, “then yeah. Sure.”

How very interesting. Eskel waited a moment, choosing his next salvo carefully. 

“...Did you fuck it?” 

This time not only did Geralt choke, but there was a sudden crash from somewhere behind them. He turned to look, not quite willing to believe something as large as that wolf could be friendly, but saw nothing. When he looked back, Geralt was breathing again, but still red in the face and sputtering.

“No, for fuck’s sake, I didn’t fuck the wolf!” It was a good thing they were on horseback, because if they were closer to the ground, Eskel probably would have had a face full of snow already.

“Uh huh. I mean, no judgement from me. Alright, maybe a little judgement.”

“Eskel!” Geralt yelled, scandalized. “Who do you take me for?”

Eskel considered the redness in Geralt’s face and... _wondered_. This line of inquiry was netting some fairly interesting results. Might as well see it through.

“Well, I mean, there was that were-....what was she? Some kind of cat?”

“A _human_!” Geralt all but yelled. “She was a beautiful _human_ when I met her!”

“Yes. And Princess Adda?” Eskel raised an eyebrow at him.

Geralt looked like a balloon that somebody pumped too much; even his cheeks were bulging out with his outrage.

“She was _cursed_ , a curse which was _lifted_.” 

Eskel looked around and tried to spot the wolf. He hated how easily it blended in to the snow around them. It was still there, watching them, he was certain. The way his horse kept dancing under him was the clearest indication that the beast was near. 

“I’m just saying,” Eskel continued, “there seems to be a pattern.”

Geralt rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Gods, you’re as bad as Ciri. She’s rubbed off on you. My daughter, the bad influence.”

Huh, so Ciri knew what was going on. Probably.

Eskel snorted. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“You and Lambert were around just as much when she was little, _Uncle Eskel_ , so it’s just as much your fault.” Geralt eyed him suspiciously.

“I am the only sane one out of the remaining witchers of Kaer Morhen and you know that,” Eskel defended. “Downright virtuous, I am.”

That earned him a snort. Geralt seemed a little more at ease, though, so the teasing had a secondary benefit, aside from just information gathering. 

They travelled on horseback for a few hours, until the road became too narrow for riding and they had to dismount. The caverns along the side of the lowest tier of glacier were their target, the first place he pinpointed at the likely nesting place. There was a narrow, winding road, an old miners trail, that led up to the caverns. The caves themselves had formed from glacial ice melt flowing under the sheet, and depositing various sediment along their way; sediment that was rich in various precious minerals. The deposits and the meltwater were very attractive to local prospectors. 

In springtime there was a continual small stream that flowed out of the caves, and they were prone to flash flooding. But given that it was winter, they were probably dry, frozen solid. Even taking that into account the caves could still be quite dangerous. Unexpected ice water pockets, fracturing ice, and treacherous footing were all things Eskel was hoping they’d have the good fortune to avoid. 

Given the nature of the trail, Eskel knew they would have to leave the horses behind eventually. He had the supplies for them, food to keep them occupied while he and Geralt were busy killing. Frankly, the wolf following them wasn’t helping either. Both beasts looked a little on the skittish side, and it was starting to be more and more of a liability.

Eventually they came across a likely spot to leave them; a nice little pine grove that was sheltered from sight. The smell of the trees would help mask the scent of the horses and there would be shelter from snow if the weather turned. Geralt and Eskel tied up a little perimeter for the horses to stay in, covered them with spare blankets, and laid out some grazing material and pans of water. Before they left, they both cast the Yrden sign, a large magical trap laid into the ground. Just in case. 

Then they shouldered their packs and headed up the mountain with a clawed, fanged menace shadowing them.

As they walked up the rocky, narrow path, the trees around them thinned out and boulders began to appear in their place. The smallest of them was the size of a mastiff, though most were as tall as a man. 

The wind picked up, blowing straight at their faces and Eskel pulled his hood down on his face. The scars on the right half of his face affected how well he felt temperatures. Even with that, it was cold enough that the skin there was already stinging. He noticed Geralt doing the same, tying down the hood under his chin and bending forward to break the wind. When Eskel took a look back, he saw the beast following them not twenty paces behind. The wind flattened its fur to its body, but that didn’t make it look any smaller; instead, that merely highlighted the power of its muscles. Goddamn hellhound it was, not a wolf.

After an hour of trekking through the increasingly narrow road, Eskel tapped Geralt’s shoulder, dislodging a wet clump of build up snow in the process. He motioned that he would lead now and Geralt fell back with a nod. Of the two of them, Eskel knew where they needed to start scaling the mountainside.

It took another forty minutes to find the jagged rock that held the passage they needed to take. The enormous boulder was set directly in the way of the trail. It had to have been worked by dwarves; the bottom had a narrow passage cut clean through it, offering an opening for the trail, but the top was untouched. Snow and mud from heavy rains had clogged and hidden most of the passage from view. 

Eskel stood back, braced himself, and started swinging his pickaxe, trying to dislodge the debris. They needed enough room to crawl through the opening with their armor and packs. 

After a few minutes he paused mid swing, finally feeling warm, and looked at the wolf. It was now innocently sitting in the middle of the narrow trail. Its tail was primly curled around its powerful paws and the ears were pricked forward attentively. Eskel could tell it was doing it’s best to look cute and non-threatening, but the fucking hand long fangs sticking out of its massive mouth were ruining the effect. He snorted and went back to chiseling away the debris that clogged the passageway. On the bright side, he doubted the wolf could fit in the hole he was making.

Eventually, the last of the snow lodged in the hole gave up and crumbled down around his feet. He kicked the remaining bits away as he reattached the pick to his belt.

“Come on,” he yelled over the howl of the wind. 

Geralt turned back from staring at the wolf and nodded, starting to pull his backpack off.

The sharp cry that sounded in the air was almost like a hawk’s call. Almost but not quite. Eskel looked up and saw the dark outline of large wings flapping high in the sky. Five or six of them circling overhead.

“Let’s hope they don’t understand what we are doing here,” Geralt said watching the harpies circling. “I don’t fancy having to deal with them when we are on the side of the mountain.”

“You and me both,” Eskel agreed. Then he dropped to hands and knees and started to crawl. The moment the stone closed overhead, the howl of wind cut off so abruptly that Eskel could swear his ears started ringing from the sudden cessation of noise.

The other side of the hollowed out rock was a little roomier. The trail led along the side of the mountain. On their right was a steep wall of rock up to the peak, and on their left was deep ravine with a fast flowing, freezing river at the bottom. Some scraggly brush and a few trees littered the other side of the river, only to have the rock rise up again in another mountain. The wind had to be blowing in just the right way, because the steep sides of the mountains flanking the trail actually blocked most of the biting gusts.

“Okay!” Eskel yelled back. He turned to judge the state of the narrow path that cut right into the rock face while shouldering his own backpack again. The steep incline of the rock meant there wasn’t much snow. And while the ledge was narrower than what he remembered from his trip here years ago, it looked fairly sturdy. The hard rock seemed to have weathered the years well.

Geralt’s backpack came before him, hurled through the passage. Then he popped out behind it like a cork from a bottle of agitated beer.

Eskel watched him get up and shrug his backpack on, and found himself a little amazed at the fluidity of his movements. Geralt was always the best of them. Fast and strong, he had always moved well. But in recent years the accumulated damage had started to make itself known in little pangs and hurts. All the scar tissue affected their bodies, whether the injuries healed well or no. Eskel’s own voice was a good example. His throat healed from where it was torn open by claws, but his voice was forever more reminiscent of a dogs growl than anything else.

But now Geralt moved like a young man again. Swift and quick. Whatever had happened to him went deeper than just appearance.

Eskel noticed Geralt casting glances back at the passage and huffed. 

“It won’t fit,” he said finally, exasperated.

“Er,” Geralt looked back at him, guilt written all over his face. “We better go, we’re burning daylight.”

This time Geralt was in the lead, silently taking the harder position. Since Eskel had led for the last few hours he was looking forward to having Geralt as the windbreaker for the next few.

The harpies screeched, closer this time. When he looked up he saw easily more than a dozen of the feathered beasts against the murky grey sky. Eskel didn’t like the speed with which they multiplied, but at least they kept their distance for now.

They walked for ten minutes, hugging the wall, before the strange set of Geralt’s shoulders made Eskel nervous enough that he looked back behind them.

There at the beginning of the trail was the huge wolf. It was poised low on its haunches and looked strangely surprised at Eskel. 

Eskel found that to be unfair, because how the fuck did that thing manage to squeeze through an opening less than half its size? Was it part goddamn cat? Did it follow the rule that if the head squeezed in everything else would follow? It defied logic. It defied reason even because it was still roughly the size of Eskel’s own horse. The only way it wasn't falling off the narrow ledge right now was because its huge goddamn claws were digging in deep into the rock. Eskel could see the trail of marks it left in the path and his hand all but itched for the silver blade resting over his shoulder.

“You have so much explaining to do, Geralt,” he growled.

Geralt’s shoulders inched up around his ears but he didn’t turn around, resolutely pretending there wasn’t an impossible wolf and an irritated witcher at his back.

The harpies were gone from the sky the next time he looked up. It made Eskel frown. A sudden sudden change in behavior like that put his teeth on edge. He put it out of his mind as he focused on the narrow, slippery path. There was less snow here than outside the ravine but that didn’t stop the ice from building up over the rock.

There was a crack, a dull kind of sound that made Eskel jerk his head up in search of the reason. Geralt stopped too, leaving about ten paces between them. One of his hands was resting against the rock as he looked up. The way the passage was situated meant he couldn't see more than a narrow band of sky between the mountains. 

More thuds sounded, coming closer. The sound was strangely unnatural, almost rhythmic in a way natural phenomenon just wasn’t. A faint sprinkle of dust and pebbles rolled down the sheer rock wall and onto their heads.

“Fuck,” Geralt shouted, looking back to Eskel. “Hold on, they are trying to cause a landslide!”

Eskel saw what Geralt saw then; a few of the Harpies that circled high above them were now visible over the lip of the ravine. Each one of them carried a fair sized rock and they were tossing them high up on the slope of the mountain, right directly on a patch of accumulated debris. Rock chunks of various sizes and large patches of ice and snow littered the whole slope, and the stones that the harpies threw rolled right through them on the way down. Each hit made the debris patches shift ominously.

The first rock that hurtled down wasn’t bigger than Eskel’s fist. Ducking in close to the rock wall was enough to get away from the projectile, as well as the handful of smaller rocks that followed it. One sharp bit of debris bounced oddly and hit him in the face, scoring a cut across his jaw. On the unscarred part of his face too. Of course.

“I’m okay!” He uncurled from his defensive hunch and looked to where Geralt was also hugging the wall. 

“I’m good,” Geralt responded. He dared a look out at the apparently calm sky above them. Then he craned his neck, obviously trying to look at the fucking wolf.

Rolling his eyes, Eskel flattened himself against the rock again, giving Geralt a chance to see that the furry beast was fine if hunched miserably on his path. Unlike he and Geralt, it was too big to hope for the rockface to be any protection.

“We should hurry, before they try again.” No sooner were the words out of Eskel’s mouth than another crack sounded; this one dull and loud enough Eskel could feel it in his bones.

In the next moment the world went _insane_.

Eskel didn’t even have time to see the rock flow coming, it was just there, on top of him, battering into him like a thousand weighted punches. He was ripped away from the rock wall with barely enough time to flail. The air around him was dark with falling rock and dirty snow, and he could feel his ribs crack and burn under the assault.

The blunt pain was quickly drowned out by a sharp, burning agony in his shoulder and all the breath in his body abruptly fled as he lurched to a sudden stop. Rock and dirt and wickedly sharp ice poured down around him, cutting into his face and grinding into his armor.

There were teeth in his shoulder. Large, ivory, cold fucking teeth, nestled inside a vicious looking mouth. The wolf had bit him and was holding him up, keeping him from following the debris flow down into the icy river below. 

Eskel could feel how his joint loosened and separated under the strain and how the bone popped out of the socket, pushing at the muscles unnaturally. The pain was blinding, obscuring the ache of the broken ribs or the other places that the falling rocks battered. For a moment he couldn’t even feel the way those ivory fangs cut right through his armor and dug into his flesh. He could smell the blood and the unmistakable scent of wet fur. Agony rolled his stomach and tightened his throat.

Instinct and experience all screamed at Eskel to move, to struggle out of the horrifically painful bite. But he knew that he had to stay still no matter how fucking much it hurt, and regardless of the fact that he was bleeding into a monster’s mouth. That monster was trying to save him. The more he struggled, the more likely the wolf would lose his grip and send Eskel down into the river under half a mountain of rock.

The wolf was growling and the low vibration only aggravated the already blindingly painful wound. The beast stayed still though, even as Eskel saw some of the rocks hit it, connecting with that powerful form with meaty thumps. It growled louder but stayed unmoving under the onslaught of the last of the rocks pelting them both.

The onslaught turned to a trickle and then to nothing but ear shattering silence. That’s when the wolf finally moved. Eskel screamed as blinding pain shot out from his shoulder. The wolf started pulling back; its huge claws dug into rock that was already crumbling at the edges. Hanging limp like a sack full of blood, Eskel could feel himself being hauled up onto the ledge. 

Inch by excruciating inch the wolf got enough of his upper body onto the ledge that Eskel could start pulling himself with his sole working arm. His fingers scrabbled at the ice covered ground, trying and failing to find a solid grip. He screamed again when the Wolf growled again and yanked, pulling Eskel up to his hips onto the ledge with one heave. His broken, or at least cracked, ribs screamed in agony and his spasming muscles pushed all the air out of him as he gasped wetly through those last few inches.

It wasn’t the end though. Eskel just managed to get his teeth around his own sleeve before the Wolf let go of his bite and pulled its teeth out, letting Eskel drop to the ground. He didn't scream, didn't have the breath for it anyway, but he bit down on the leather between his teeth hard enough something in his jaw popped.

Time lost meaning for a moment as the world went hazy, swimming in front of his eyes. It was the careful snuffling against the side of his face that roused him enough to unclench his jaw.

The warm, moist puffs against his cheek continued, the wet nose pressing against his skin from time to time. The wolf smelled of ice and just a little of dog. There was a hint of blood underneath that, and Eskel briefly wondered if the animal was wounded, too.

That was enough of doing nothing. Despite the agony in his ribs, Eskel took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he forcefully calmed down his heartbeat. Now that he wasn’t hanging from a dislocated shoulder, the pain had receded to a dull roar. He could work with that.

“Geralt,” he tried to call out but the most he managed was a rough growl. 

Geralt didn’t answer, but the wolf did, whining softly.

Slowly, he braced his functional arm under himself. He shifted his weight until he could balance it away from the most injured parts of his chest and pushed up. His knees and legs seemed to be mostly working right; they properly pulled under him and braced well at least. He had to stop on hands and knees. Already he was panting like he’d run twenty miles and his dislocated arm hung uselessly beside him.

For a moment Eskel just breathed, gathering himself. He needed help getting up; he could admit it. His head felt fuzzy enough he stood a serious risk of losing his balance when he got to a vertical position. Without something to hold on to, he could easily finish himself what the harpies started and fall down into the ravine.

Eskel breathed and stared at the garrison of black claws framing the powerful paws in front of him. The light grey fur was surprisingly clean for all the climbing they did that day. He needed help. He needed something to hold on while he got up.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He really hoped Geralt was serious when he said the wolf was a friend, because Eskel was about to put that to the test.

“I need you to stay still,” he rasped out. 

Carefully he straightened up on his knees. His ribs sent white hot lightning bolts of pain through his lungs as he pulled his functional arm up enough to grab a handful of that coarse, thick fur at the wolf’s shoulder.

“Just don’t move.”

He leaned into the mountain of muscles and fangs, half hoping and half surprised when the wolf tensed under him. But the beast resolutely did not move as Eskel used him to get up. Realizing that even when the wolf was seated, its shoulder easily reached Eskel’s elbow was a mindfuck all on its own.

Being on his feet made him feel better, if shaky. It meant he had mobility again, could _do_ something. When he looked back, he wasn’t surprised to see that the area where he used to be was half crumbled, half buried in loose rocks and dirty snow.

There was no sign of Geralt.

He felt the wolf tremble under his hand and he realized with surprise that he was still actually touching the creature. Its bright golden eyes were watching the same thing as Eskel and its ears were pulled back. It was whining, so quiet that only Eskel’s enhanced hearing allowed him pick up the sound.

“He’s not dead,” he found himself saying, watching the thickly furred ears unflatten themselves from the massive skull. “He’s a witcher.” The ears went up a little bit again. “A fall like that won’t kill us.” He hoped he wasn’t lying.

The wolf shifted, sniffing at Eskel’s arm and chest. He couldn’t help but feel called out. There was just something very pointed in the way the wolf was ostentatiously sniffing at his wounds.

“I said wouldn’t kill, not wouldn't hurt,” he defended. “Besides, how the fuck did a giant goddamn monster wolf like you learn to sass? That’s just adding insult to injury.” The wolf just snorted at him. “Great, now I’m being laughed at.” 

He sighed.

“By an oversized wolf to boot.”

The bitching helped take his mind off the ache in his ribs and the burning agony of his shoulder. There was no space for him on this ledge to do any serious triaging, but at the same time he couldn't afford to wait to do it. Especially the shoulder. If it started healing with the bone still in the wrong position, he would either have to rebreak it or be fucked for life.

He looked at the rock on the one side of the trail and the sheer drop on the other. Then he looked at the huge wolf taking up most of the path. Eskel couldn’t even imagine how the wolf intended to turn around on it. Still, it seemed to be the only path available for him.

“I really fucking hope you are as smart as Geralt thinks you are, because I will need your help.”

Taking care to keep his breathing even and slow, Eskel unlocked the belt holding up his potion pouch and let it drop from his hips. A few jarring shakes and the belt was free of the pouch.

Arm first.

Eskel went slow, cursing the cold that stiffened the joints on his only functioning hand. He looped the belt around the wrist of his fucked up arm. Then he made sure the loops were nice and tight, pretending all the while that he didn't feel the way his stomach was twisting with apprehension. He gathered the trailing ends of the belt and extended them towards the wolf. The animal was watching him curiously, ears tilted at odd angles.

“I need you to take those and hold,” he swallowed, his throat clicking dryly. “Really fucking hard, okay?”

The wolf extended his snout, nose barely brushing past his fingers as it sniffed at the belt. Eskel watched, kind of stunned, as it opened its jaws and gently took the folded belt into its mouth.

Then it looked at Eskel, its eyes shining with intelligence.

“Okay.” Eskel took a few more breaths and tried to steel himself for what was to come. “No matter what, you have to keep still okay? Don’t let go.”

The wolf made a sound, a half whine, half growl that Eskel chose to take as agreement.

“Now!” he snapped and jerked himself bodily back and around. He could feel how the bone shifted and pulled away from the joint again. It felt as it it was being torn off. The shoulder was a blazing point of agony and the bite just a cherry on top of that particular cake. Something in his wrist popped and added a nauseating zing of pain to the agony already coursing through him. Eskel would have screamed, but the broken ribs held his chest in a breathless vice. 

The wolf held though. Its black lips pulled away from ivory white fangs as it growled around the leather it was biting on. Eskel yanked again, rotating his upper body despite the pain, until he felt the joint pop back into place. His vision was blurry and cold sweat dripped down his face. He dropped to the ground and retched, his stomach refusing to hold out anymore.

Again it was the cold touch of that nose on his neck that made him rouse. The wolf was all but standing over him, snuffling at his head and his hair.

“I’m conscious,” he rasped and did his best to get onto his knees again.

The wolf made a sound at him again, a strangely growly and disgruntled sound.

“Quit your worrying.” He swayed in place a moment. The world swam around him and his whole body throbbed with pain. “Like an old woman, you are. Eskel, eat your dinner. Eskel, wipe your boots. Eskel, don’t pass out on a mountain top. Fuck.”

One ear swiveled to the side and stayed there, flopped down and somehow looked _offended_.

He still felt dizzy, too floaty for comfort. Talking hurt but also helped him remain conscious.

“Now I can take potions.” His undamaged hand shook like mad and his cold fingers fumbled with the latches of the discarded satchel. The arm he put back into its socket was a riot of pins and needles as feeling came back, hurting like hell. “Couldn't do that before.”

Eskel caught himself slurring his words and paused to focus on forming each sound. “Arm would have healed wrong.”

Finally he fumbled the Swallow potion out of the satchel and brought the small bottle to his lips. When he set his teeth against the waxed cork to pull it out, he became aware of how much his jaw ached. It took two tries to open it and he barely spat out the cork before he was pouring the liquid down his throat.

Eskel stayed on his knees and tried to ease himself into a half meditative state while the potion worked. He needed at least ten minutes for the healing effect to set in, for the pain to ease down to a dull roar, and for the uneven thumping in his ears to fade to something more acceptable.

When he blinked back to awareness nothing much had changed. The path was still mostly buried under the landslide, the sky was suspiciously clear of the harpies, and the wolf was laying down on its belly, watching Eskel attentively. The moment it saw Eskel react, it lurched to its feet.

Eskel peered over the side of the ravine. Getting down would be a trick and he didn’t trust the debris at all. Especially right in the path of descent. 

“I hope you’re nimble,” he muttered to the wolf. “We’ll have to back track a bit, try and slide down a little ways away, then follow the river up.” Already he was feeling, not _better_ , but functional at least.

The arm wouldn’t be usable for a long time yet, but he could move if he had to.

The wolf looked down the ravine, then looked to Eskel, then back down the ravine. The left ear flopped to the side and down again.

“Oh fuck you too, wolf,” Eskel said, mildly offended. “At least I have thumbs. Good luck on that loose rock with all those claws. Good Gods, no wonder Geralt likes you. Sassy little shit.”

Another grumble was his only response.

Eskel started looking for a good place to start his descent. There was a promising spot a couple dozen feet behind the wolf. He turned to the animal and made a shooing motion with his healthy arm.

“Time to start backing up.” He pointed at the path. “Move your fat, furry ass already.”

The wolf pulled its black lips up from its unbelievable fangs, showing them off to Eskel soundlessly, before it straightened up suddenly. Eskel narrowed his eyes at the wolf. The wolf looked behind itself, then down the ravine, and then back to Eskel. Something in its expression looked undeniably smug to Eskel. 

Then it jumped.

Eskel couldn’t stop a short exclamation from escaping his throat at the suicidal move. He watched as the huge, muscular form sailed down the deadly ravine and thought that was the end of it, that he would have to watch the wolf crash against the rocks below. Then the wolf’s form glowed; a bright, blue-white glow that made Eskel’s eyes sting as his pupils rapidly contracted. Between one heartbeat and the next the huge body turned into not much more than a mirage, barely an outline of a wolf made of light.

As lightly as a feather, the shape drifted down the ravine and landed on the opposite bank of the fast flowing, treacherous river. It bounded once, twice, and on the third leap it was back to being corporeal again, all muscle and deadly claws.

Eskel’s jaw dropped, first in astonishment, and then in outrage. No wonder it followed them onto the trail, no wonder Geralt took the front the lying fucking bastard.

“Bullshit!” he yelled down the ravine, his one good arm flapping in annoyance. He was so offended he didn’t even feel the pain of his broken ribs as he yelled. “Bull! Shit! Wolf, my ass!” Just to emphasise his point, he threw every crude gesture he could think of at the wolf. 

Because this was _horseshit_. 

Obviously, the damn beast could hear him because the thing sat up straight and practically preened. Even the perky way it held its ears looked smug. 

So much bullshit.

Eskel grabbed his belts and adjusted his gear, partially to settle it for the climb down and partially to make his swords easier to draw. He walked down the path, lining himself up with the spot that looked to be the easiest to go down. Then he gave one last sour look over the side. At least it was always easier to go down than it was to go up.

“At least keep an eye out while I’m trying to get down,” he growled. From the way the wolf’s ears swiveled towards him it was obvious the beast heard him. 

Gods, the ravine looked deep. The slope down wasn’t impossible, but it was steep enough he wasn’t looking forward to the descent. 

Eskel sighed.

 _Best get to it_.

Rather than stepping off and trying to walk down the side, he sat down on the edge of the trail and eased his feet down, finding foot holds. From there he carefully tucked the hand on his wounded arm into his belt to keep it held tightly to his body. If he lost his balance, the last thing he wanted was his already fucked up arm flailing about while he fell. 

Cautiously, he stepped downwards, half sliding, half walking. He kept his good arm carefully on the ravine wall, both to keep his balance and to steady his descent. The wolf very kindly stood right at the base of where he slowly worked his way down. Not very helpful if Eskel slipped while he was so high up but at least he’d have a soft landing at the bottom. 

He found as long as he kept his weight on his good side, the trek down wasn’t that awful. Relatively, anyways. He focused on the way he needed to move and on the footing he needed to choose instead of the agony of his ribs, shoulder, and the hundred aches of his beaten body. All in all, he made good time. Even better was the fact that he didn’t set off any additional rock slides. 

By the time he hit the bottom, Eskel was sweating and absolutely filthy. His armor had protected him from any incidental scrapes and bruises, though, so he was willing to call the effort a win. 

As soon as he was on stable footing again the wolf crowded in close to sniff at him, its ears perked forward attentively. The fact its head was roughly at Eskel’s neck level took away a lot of the cuteness the wolf was obviously striving for.

“I’m fine.” The words were only a touch grouchy. It was kind of nice that the wolf seemed to actually give a shit. 

The wolf made a grumbly, disbelieving sound at him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eskle waved a hand at the wolf and rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you clearly haven’t spent too much time with Geralt yet, otherwise you’d see that this isn’t so bad. Witchers get into all kinds of trouble. Give me a day and I’ll be tip top.”

The look the wolf gave him was almost worried; its brows arched up and the ears dropped down a bit. Eskel found the expression to be hilarious and didn’t bother hiding his amusement. 

He snorted out a quick laugh and shook his head. Then he turned his attention to the river next to them. 

The water’s path wasn’t massive, as rivers go, but it wasn’t a tiny stream either. It was easily five or six horse lengths wide and rushed along at a good clip. There was barely any meander in its path at all. The water way twisted only enough to leave a few feet of gravel along the banks which widened to a horse length or two at the insides of the bends. Snow and ice gathered on the rocks, making the footing treacherous. 

Eskel began picking his way towards the landslide debris, being as quick as possible. There was a fair amount of rock that had piled up at the base of the ravine, though he hoped it wasn’t enough to bury Geralt. If it was, he’d have to see just how smart that wolf was. Maybe it could sniff him out. 

The rock spilled out into the river, though not enough to cut it off completely. Still, the waters heaved and flooded out around the intrusion and Eskel started to pray that Geralt wasn’t underwater somewhere.

“Hey lightfoot. Go to the other shore and keep an eye out. I’ll check this side.” Eskel eyed the wolf and then nodded his head across the swift waters. The wolf didn’t waste any time; it simply made another one of those magical leaps. Eskel’s witcher medallion vibrated for a moment as the wolf sailed across the water as a spectral ghost.

As much as Eskel wanted to watch the beautiful transformation, he didn’t dare. They’d already wasted enough time as it was. If Geralt was in the water, the longer he stayed there the worst it would be for him. There was a tiny bit of Eskel holding out hope that Geralt would at least be conscious but he didn’t really expect to have that kind of luck. 

He made his way around the fallen rock and kept his eyes peeled for anything unusual. If they didn’t find anything quickly, Eskel would call over the wolf and see if it could track by scent. But for the moment he just kept looking and resolutely ignored the screaming pain in his own body.

It was Eskel who spotted Geralt first. His dark clothes and white hair blended in with the frothing waters almost too well. It was the flash of light off his sword handles that Eskel noticed. Eskel’s pupils narrowed as he tried to see through the glare of the winter light reflecting off of the water and wet stones. 

There, between two larger boulders near the left bank of the river, was Geralt. One of his hands was clutching a long dagger that was wedged firmly between the two rocks. He’d managed to pull most of his upper body out of the water before he passed out. The water, murky as it was, washed away most of the blood so Eskel couldn’t see the extent of his injuries from where he was.

“Here!” Eskel yelled, ignoring the flash of agony in his ribs. If he laid down for a few hours the ribs would mend nicely. All the walking and climbing was preventing his healing but there was just nothing to do about it. “Found him!”

The wolf, patrolling the opposite side of the river, perked up and looked at Eskel. He could see the tension in its body in how it looked left and right for a moment before it hunkered down on its haunches. Then it leaped forward. Its powerful muscles launched the huge body high into the air. Mid leap the body faded out into the shimmery, blue-white outline of a wolf. It sailed weightlessly through the air, easily crossing the distance. Then it landed softly, soundlessly on Eskel’s side of the river and its body shimmered back to corporeal between one heartbeat and the next.

It went straight to Geralt, sniffing all around him and whining softly. By the time Eskel picked his way around the rock to get there, the wolf had started licking Geralt’s cheek. Didn’t help though. Between the injuries and the cold, Geralt wasn’t waking up. They were lucky he’d managed to pull himself out of the water as much as he did.

How to get him out, though?

Right then, the wolf opened his massive fucking maw and aimed right for Geralt’s back.

“Stop!” Eskel screeched, freezing the wolf in place right before it bit down. What, exactly, it was planning to bite, Eskel wasn’t sure. Nor was he going to risk it. “The fuck are you doing?! Don’t _bite him_! Sweet fucking gods.” He flailed a little in place and ground his teeth.

The look he got from the wolf was absolutely filled with contempt. It flicked its ears backwards and just glared, snapping its awful mouth shut and wrinkling its nose.

Eskel pointed at his own ripped up shoulder and to the chainmail parted as if it was made of butter not steel.

“This is what your teeth did to chainmail! Humans are softer than chainmail!”

The wolf just glared harder and stuck out its head a little bit. If anything, that just added to the over all impression of disgust and irritation. It actually fucking rolled its eyes at Eskel and very, very carefully nosed into Geralt’s sword harness. With its eyes on Eskel, it just barely opened its mouth and nudged the blades of the swords into that vicious array of fangs. 

It paused just long enough to look at Eskel and raise an eyebrow. 

“Now you wait for my input?” he grouched, rolling his eyes. Eskel rubbed his face for a moment and sighed. “Pull him out, if you can. Just...gently. He doesn’t need more broken ribs than he probably already has.”

He knew he probably didn’t need to say that last bit but he couldn’t quite stop himself. The wolf didn’t seem to take it amiss, though. It just braced its paws against the rocks and slowly leaned back, tugging on Geralt’s body with carefully measured strength. 

Right when Eskel thought this would actually work and he might get away from the damn river without getting soaked, Geralt’s body lurched to a halt. He was still hip deep in the river though. Something on his gear was caught in the debris. That might have been a reason why he didn’t pull himself out all the way in the first place.

“Fuck, no,” Eskel breathed out the words along with a heartfelt sigh. He knew that hesitating now would only make him more unhappy about getting wet. So before he had time to work himself up, he carefully stepped around Geralt’s prone body and slipped into the water.

“ _Fuck_ , fuck fuck fuck fuck...” So cold. So very, very cold. The icy river water soaked right into his bones. The cold was like being punched, a hit to his senses. At first he didn't even register it as cold. Just as a burning sensation as if somebody was splashing him with boiling water.

Sadly, this wasn’t his first dunk into a frigid river, so he knew to wait for the initial shock to pass him by. It only took a moment and then he was fumbling down Geralt’s body, feeling around as best he could for whatever had snagged him. 

In a heartbeat his fingers were numb and aching. Two heartbeats after that and the cold started to burn. The water swirled around him, deep enough that it came up to his mid thigh. He knew that getting his bloody shoulder wet would only be worse for the wound, but he was still vaguely irritated that the parts of him that were getting numb were the only parts that weren’t actively broken or bleeding. He’d have to put up with both the pain and the burning cold, making him that much more miserable. 

Eskel kept feeling his way down, quick as he could, and found where Geralt had gotten caught. One of buckles on his boots had gotten tangled with an errant branch, which in turn was wedged under a pile of stone. It was getting harder and harder for Eskel to feel what he was doing; his fingers were all but useless. After what seemed like an agonizing amount of time he managed to get the strap untangled and Geralt’s body was dragged promptly away. 

Eskel slowly crawled after him, leaning heavily on his aching, wet hand for support. He slipped forward and fell hard onto his knee. It should have left him cursing up a storm but after the icy water Eskel could barely even feel the impact. 

Moments later, still kneeling in the wet, half frozen mud, he got a faceful of fur and felt a tug on his sword harness. His ribs exploded into a burning agony and he gasped out a harsh, “No!’

The wolf let go of him immediately and all but jumped back, as if Eskel hit him. Eskel panted through the pain and waited for the roar in his ears to die out.

“My ribs are broken. If you pick me up by the strap they might puncture my lungs,” he explained, strangely feeling _guilty_ at the way the wolf flinched from him at his sharp rebuke.

Slowly, the wolf creeped back, snuffling at him and even giving him a hesitant lick across the scarred side of his face.

“I'm fine,” he said roughly, disbelieving he was _consoling a monster._ After the magic show of the wolf turning intangibile and jumping impossible distances, he couldn’t even pretend it was in any way, shape, or form related to an actual wolf. “Quit your worrying.”

He got a wet snuffle right in his ear for his trouble. That would teach him trying to be nice.

There was no use pussyfooting about any more. He reached for the coarse fur on the wolf’s chest and grabbed a good fistful. 

“Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “On three.”

The body under his hand tensed but didn’t move as he used the handhold to lever himself up. He staggered when the sudden shift in altitude made him fuzzy again. Eskel didn’t like how often he was getting dizzy and how nauseated he was still. It bore all the markings of a concussion. That was just what he needed on top of all the other injuries. When his vision cleared, he realised he was still holding on to the wolf. 

“Thanks,” he said gruffly and let go. The wolf kept watching him silently for a moment longer before it moved away and went back to Geralt’s prone form.

Geralt was stretched out on his front, just as the wolf had to have dragged him. His wet body was dirty with the freezing mud and clumps of old, dirty snow. Bits of ice were already forming in his hair and small crystals of it hung on his brows too. His gear was soaked through and dirty as hell and small rips littered his clothes where sharp rocks must have cut through the leather and armor.

The wolf was already there sniffing around Geralt’s face and making that sad, whining sound again. Eskel pushed himself forward, all while ignoring the wet squelching of his boots every time he took a step.

With a gentle nudge, the wolf nosed at Geralt’s shoulder and rolled him up onto his side. Eskel staggered over and kneeled down next to him, momentarily losing breath at the stabs of pain from his ribs, and steadied the roll with his good hand. He was ridiculously grateful that the wolf had taken the initiative on moving Geralt because Eskel didn’t even want to think about doing it himself. He was even more grateful when he saw the steady, slow pulse at Geralt’s neck and the rise and fall of his chest.

The wolf immediately started to nose around Geralt’s throat, sniffing and huffing out short breaths. It looked at Eskel and then nosed again at the collar of the armor. 

Odd. 

Eskel frowned, but obliged the beast. He fumbled with the ties for a moment, eventually working them open. The cold, wet material wasn’t helping anyone. He would have cut the damn things open but he wasn’t sure he wanted a knife so close to Geralt’s neck while his hand was this unsteady. 

Finally, the simple knot gave way. His cold fingers weren’t very sensitive and Geralt’s skin was just as damn cold, so there was a fair bit of fumbling around as he opened up the front of Geralt’s armor. 

Geralt’s witcher medallion hung around his neck outside the many layers, just like Eskel’s did; the vicious looking metal wolf head was as much a symbol of their school as it was a useful tool for detecting monstrous creatures. 

He pulled out the witcher medallion, stifling a giggle at the whole idea, and showed it to the wolf. The beast made an offended sound at him and ducked its head to nose Geralt’s neck again. Eskel didn’t like all those teeth so close to vulnerable flesh but he ignored the uneasiness. The wolf clearly only wanted to help.

Eskel only noticed the second chain after a moment of staring. Its pale silver length was all but lost against the deathly pallor of Geralt’s skin. 

That slim silver chain was attached to a second medallion that was nestled under the layers of soggy leather and cloth. It was a thick silver disc, probably valuable for just it’s weight, and it had a wolf carved into the front of it. 

He showed it to the wolf, and was surprised by the pleased snuffle and quick lick that he got in response. Startled, Eskel dropped the medallion and the heavy silver fell onto Geralt’s chest with a thump. The wolf put his paw on the medallion. The huge thing dwarfed the jewelry easily and its claws fanned around Geralt’s chest in way that made Eskel supremely uncomfortable. Eskel felt his own witcher medallion vibrate against his chest, informing him of magic nearby, just before a long and mournful wolf howl could be heard somewhere in the mountains above.

The wolf put his head up and howled in response, long and loud enough to make Eskel’s ears ring and his headache raise up. Eskel rubbed his forehead and wished that the icy cold of his glove would take away some of the pain in his head. 

“Gods Geralt, the hell did you get mixed up in,” he muttered to himself. Monster wolves. Magic necklaces. Disappearing scars and bizarre de-aging. 

Eskel sighed and looked at the wolf. There was definitely some kind of expression on the wolf’s face, but Eskel couldn’t place it. “That’s gonna help, right?”

The wolf made a small, whining sound at him and turned back to sniffing at Geralt. The gear alone probably held bucketloads of water, all of which was freezing slowly against Geralt’s skin. Hell, he had to get his own boots off, too, to pour out the water still pooling inside around his toes. Then he needed to do the same for Geralt. Then he needed to unstrip as much of the armor as he could from Geralt. All with only one working hand. 

Fuck, his head hurt.

While he tried to gather up his thoughts, Eskel watched the wolf sniff at Geralt’s forearm. Its nose went back and forth across the length of the arm. It reminded Eskel that he needed to check for broken bones, too. Any breaks would need to be set before he could pour a potion down Geralt’s throat.

“Alright,” he said slowly now that he was sure Geralt was actually alive. “We need to move him away from the riverbank and get as much of his clothes off as we can. Set any bones we can reach and juice him up to the gills.”

Eskel started unbuckling Geralt’s sword harness. “I’m going to make a better harness out of this and you will pull him, okay?” He shifted the belts until they were wrapped under Geralt’s arms and extended the thick leather band out from Geralt’s body. The wolf opened its mouth full of razor sharp fangs to carefully get a grip on the leather.

“At least his swords protected his spine on the fall,” Eskel mused to himself as he worked. He was beyond exhausted and the only sensations he could make out at all were just varying levels of pain and cold. Talking was a nice distraction, regardless of if the wolf understood him or not. At this point, though, all evidence suggested the wolf knew exactly what Eskel was saying.

“Let’s get deeper into the woods.” He motioned towards the sparse trees that just started to thicken far down the river bank and to the left.

The wolf was being careful, as much as it could be anyways, walking backwards and dragging the few hundreds pounds of unconscious muscle and armor. It stepped carefully and kept its eyes and ears keen to the slow drag of Geralt’s body. Eskel was ridiculously grateful that he didn’t have to do the moving himself. One less thing to worry about. Instead, he stumbled alongside them, idly watching powerful muscles bunch up under the thick fur. _Dry_ fur. Eskel wished he had some dry fur, too, right about now.

When the river twisted away and the ground changed to an old, deep layer of pine needles and sparse snow, he motioned for the wolf to stop. They didn't have the time to look for a better shelter; this copse of trees would have to do.

Eskel bent down to reach for Geralt and then had to promptly turn away and stagger a few steps away to retch again as his stomach turned. The bile felt hot as it burned his stomach and Eskel just hated the irony of it all. There wasn't much in his stomach after the first round of retching he did back on the ledge. Mostly this just seemed like another way to to torture his beaten body.

He stayed leaning against the fir tree for a few heartbeats and waited to see if the nausea would return before turning back to his companions. The wolf was just a few steps behind him. Its ears twisted to the sides and drooped as it watched Eskel with what looked remarkably like concern.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasped at the animal. “We need to check him up.” He motioned to Geralt and staggered back. This time he was more careful about going to his knees, breathing past the pain and the exhaustion.

Time out the water helped some of the injuries show up. The forearm the wolf was sniffing at was slowly staining dark from a sluggishly bleeding cut. It was full of dirt and small particles from the river. Eskel fumbled out one of his knives and did his best to expand the rip in Geralt’s sleeve without cutting his friend by accident. The cut wasn’t too deep, but the bruising around the wound suggested some kind of blunt trauma. Carefully he pressed against the bone and wasn't surprised when he felt more give than a full bone should have. Geralt, though unconscious, flinched slightly. That was enough to convince him the bone was broken.

“Broken and possibly infected.” He put his own knife away and looked for one of Geralt’s. No way was he using his own knives for splints. 

Thankfully Geralt followed the witcher practice of keeping more straps on his body than necessary, just for this purpose. Fumbling with his freezing fingers, Eskel managed to unwrap one from Geralt’s thigh and then use that and one of the spare daggers to splint the arm.

After he finished that task, he gave the rest of Geralt’s upper body a quick check and then painfully shifted on his knees towards Geralt’s legs. He ran his hand over what he could reach of them, feeling the firm muscle and bone beneath. It didn’t seem like any of the major bones were broken there, though he could feel harder places where there was either scar tissue under the clothes or bruises building up.

Finally Eskel reached the boots and started working on the buckles. He was shivering and glad for it. If he stopped shivering that would be bad. Getting the first boot off was a struggle and Eskel had to pause afterwards and just breathe. 

When the fresh wave of dizziness passed, he reached for his potion pouch to pull out another Swallow. He knew he should take care of drying himself, too, before the evening hit but Geralt had to come first. Geralt was still unconscious and Eskel hadn’t seen him shiver once yet. Until he had a chance to deal with his own wet clothing, more potions would have to see him through.

The Swallow potion tasted like nothing when he drained it down; he could barely even feel it in his mouth other than the fact that it awoke a burning thirst inside of him. Just another pain to ignore. The cold was ever present, dulling his senses and sapping his strength.

While he was fiddling with potions, he just barely remembered to grab another Swallow for Geralt. It was getting harder and harder to think straight; between the pain and the cold and the concussion, the world was starting to get pretty fuzzy around the edges. 

He bit off the wax seal on the potion and slowly kneed his way up to Geralt’s head. That took more coordination than he wanted to admit, but he got there and emptied the little bottle into Geralt’s mouth. A little trickled down his face, but most of it got where it needed to go. 

After a brief pause to make sure Geralt didn’t fucking choke to death and was, in fact, swallowing the liquid, Eskel got back to work stripping Geralt down. 

The wolf was laying down against Geralt’s other side, his body easily as long as the witcher. Briefly Eskel considered all the fur and muscle and realized he had a really good source of heat right there, willingly offering to share it even. Excellent. That would be helpful for when he staggered around gathering up firewood.

He’d just gotten around to trying to figure out how to get Geralt’s jacket off of him when both their witcher amulets started to vibrate. Without even thinking about it, Eskel was on his feet and his silver sword was in his hand. He scanned the trees and the sky around them and waited. 

What he expected was more harpies. What he fucking _got_ was a group of goddamn demons. Not just any demons, but three enormous, armored, warrior demons. Each one had half plate armor and a sword the size of a boat oar and they all were twice as tall as Eskel.

“Of fucking course,” Eskel spat out bitterly. Because this day just had to get that much worse. He cast Quen on himself, not liking how the nausea intensified after the casting. He didn’t have enough strength for a long fight and, sadly, the size of the demons indicated this fight would be anything but short.

Better to start first then. 

He shifted his weight, a breath way from launching an attack, when there was a light grey smudge at the corner of his eye. The wolf was moving between Eskel and the demons. Demons that were unholstering those fucking huge swords one by one. What stopped Eskel dead was that the wolf was facing him, not the demons. Somehow, he expected the wolf to be on _his_ side.

“Get out of my way,” Eskel warned. He didn’t want to fight the wolf too, but he didn’t like the way it positioned itself, so clearly on the demon’s side. That hurt.

The wolf just huffed at him in irritation and ended the huff with at tiny clacking of its teeth. Well, Eskel was pretty fucking irritated too, and those demons were stepping closer and closer. 

Just as they walked within range of the wolf, the beast turned to them and growled. The sound was low and ferocious, so loud and deep that Eskel’s bones vibrated with it. The wolf’s whole demeanor changed; its body hunched low to the ground and black lips pulled back. It meant business in a way it hadn’t up until now. 

Eskel hesitated, not sure what to do and painfully aware of his limited strength. He couldn’t afford a fight with so many opponents at once.

The demons stopped at the growl, though. Slowly, watching the wolf with red eyes, the demons started holstering their weapons. One by one they put the cleavers on their backs. 

With careful, slow movements, the wolf stepped towards Eskel, positioning itself so it was at Eskel’s side. But it didn’t stop at a comfortable distance like it mostly had been so far. It edged closer into Eskel’s space until the damn thing nearly blocked his sight of what was going on. Then it leaned into him. Hard. Hard enough that Eskel was forced back, away from Geralt’s body, but away from the demons too.

As soon as they started moving, so did the demons, walking closer to where Geralt lay. 

“No.” Eskel shook his head and strained against the mountain of fur pressing on him. “No, what are you doing? Stop!” But the wolf just kept moving them, twisting its body around so Eskel couldn’t side step away. He tried shoving against it, but already knew what a futile attempt that would be.

The wolf didn’t budge.

Eskel shifted the grip on his sword, all the easier for striking the wolf, but hesitated. The wolf hadn’t attacked. It did its best to help even. Yet those were demons, two of which were already in reach of Geralt’s unconscious body.

Wait. Two?

He turned his head away from the wolf and Geralt, and saw the third. It did not go with its two brethren; instead it stayed where it was, watching the wolf. Watching Eskel. It didn’t pull its weapon yet but Eskel could feel it in his bones that it would attack as soon as he made a move against the wolf.

The _wolf_ was in charge.

Fuck his goddamn life.

He stood frozen and watched as the demons carefully picked up Geralt’s body and possessions. Eskel’s mouth had twisted into a bitter snarl and his stomach rolled with rage, but he stayed still. He knew damn well he couldn’t win this fight. Witchers were taught to be practical above all else.

It wasn’t just the demons, though, that enraged him so much. Nor was it the horror of watching his friend get carried off to gods only fucking knew where. But it was the fact that he’d sort of come to trust the stupid wolf, and here it was sending demons out for them. Betrayal burned inside of him, so much that he was shaking.

He waited and watched until the demons were out of sight, with the wolf close to him the whole time. Eskel was spitting mad, though most of that stemmed from pain and hurt. 

The wolf stepped away carefully and Eskel stood stock still, furious, with his hand clenched on his sword so tightly that it hurt. He didn’t dare move, though, not with the third demon watching him so carefully.

The wolf moved away and made a huffing little noise at the last demon, the fucking guard, before this one too turned and left. It followed the path of the other two and melted into the shadows of the slowly thickening forest.

When the wolf turned to look at Eskel, he nearly saw red. But he swallowed it down. He was too cold and too hurt and the wolf was too damn strong. It took a moment for him to gather his words, to put his thoughts into a coherent order.

“This had better not be the last I see of him, or I will hunt you the fuck down. Magic wolf or not.” Each word hurt his throat, and he spit them out like the poison they were. 

The wolf was watching him with its ears drooping at his sides, body slightly hunched down to the ground. It was doing the best impression of a beaten dog that a wolf the size of a horse could do, and Eskel was _not falling for it again_.

Eskel turned and walked off.

Fuck it. No sense in staying here. He had horses to walk to. He could bed down with them. 

Sheer rage carried him along for a while, and he moved at a better clip than they had leaving the river. He didn’t need to turn around to know that the wolf was following him. Eskel could feel its eyes on him and hear the crunch of snow beneath its paws. But instead of staying back like it had earlier, the wolf trotted right up to him to walk at his side.

That was about the time Eskel remembered that he still had his silver sword out. He slid it home into its sheath with more difficulty than he expected. No point in keeping it out now anyways. Every time he stepped, the frigid water in his boots sloshed around. There was a faint creaking noise too, as the soaking wet armor on his body was started to freeze and stiffen. This only infuriated him more. 

The wolf whined at him and sniffed at his arm.

Eskel just snarled at it. That earned him another sad whine. 

“Fuck you, traitorous wolf.” He seethed for a silent minute after that, but then couldn’t stop more words from tumbling out. It was a distraction, and a relief. “Demons? Really? Gods, Geralt. The fuck did you do?” He rubbed at his eyes. Not that he could feel it at all, neither on his face nor his hand.

The wolf darted in again, managing a lick against his other palm and the tongue felt ridiculously hot against his frozen skin.

He side-eyed the wolf. “You realize he’s got a meet up in a few weeks, right? Sent his daughter out and everything to gather us all up? They’re gonna be awfully pissed if he doesn’t show.” Some of the anger inside of him had fled, just under the weight of sheer exhaustion. The numbness felt like it was spreading and his arm didn’t even hurt that much anymore. He knew that was a pretty bad sign, but he also damn well knew there was nothing he could do about it. His best bet was just to keep moving. To get back to the horses, build a fire, and try to get dry and warm. 

“Sorry, Ciri,” he bitched quietly to himself. “We were just gonna get some feathers, I swear, but you know how these things go. Sometimes demons just show up? Fuck. I’m gonna warm up and come back and kill every single one of these harpies. Just out of spite.”

The wolf licked at his hand again, as if in agreement. That made Eskel grumble a bit, but he was too tired for anything else. His whole world had narrowed down to putting one foot in front of the other.

Words spilled out of him as they moved slowly and steadily through the brush and snow. Mostly he was talking to himself, complaining about the day, but every once in a while the wolf would sniff or lick at him. Reminding him that he wasn’t walking alone.

By the time he reached the place where they tied up their horses, the sky was dark and temperature dropped significantly. He was so tired he kept losing his footing every so often. At least twice he was saved from face planting into the hard packed, frozen earth by the muscular body of the monster wolf at his side.

When the glow of their Yrden trap seared through his eyelids, Eskel realized he didn't have the strength to go out and gather any wood for the fire.

“Fuck,” he said with feeling, standing in front of the bound horses. A great calm filled him and he closed his eyes for a moment, almost reeling in place. “I need firewood, or I will die of exposure no matter how many potions I use.”

The knowledge of his possible death didn’t even scare him. All witchers were prepared to die alone, somewhere in a ditch or in the woods. _No witcher died in his bed_ , was the saying and Eskel knew it to be true. Dying of exposure seemed such a stupid way to die, though. And killed by harpies no less. Out of all the nasties he ever killed, harpies weren't even close to the biggest or the baddest.

He had no idea how long he stood there, staring sightlessly at the sleeping horses, gently swaying on his feet. He wanted to lay down, close his eyes and rest, but some primal part of him knew that if he did that then he would never wake up again.

If he downed another potion he might overdose on toxicity, but it could give him enough energy to cast Igni and start a fire. If he only had anything to set fire to, he might just survive the night.

With fingers that no longer felt anything he managed to open up his pouch and fish out another Swallow potion. If he didn't do anything he would die anyway, so might as well overdose in hopes it would actually help.

He bit his tongue when he tried to get his teeth around the wax seal but even that was just a distant ache at this point. He wasn’t even feeling that cold anymore, just numb.

The potion went down easy and came back up almost instantly, his stomach roiling and threatening another round of retching. He clenched his teeth against it and breathed through his nose until the urge passed. He swallowed heavily, forcing the bile and potion back down into his stomach. 

When he blinked his eyes open again the horses were in a different position; they’d shifted a few feet over, though they still looked to be asleep. Time must have passed. The wolf was still beside him, looking at him with that worried tilt of its massive head.

Traitor animal.

“Wood,” he muttered, stumbling towards the trees. Maybe he could find a few branches. Something to set fire to.

He didn't expect the wolf to lurch into action suddenly, so fast it made Eskel dizzy again. 

The wolf bounded into the treeline, heading for a new pine sapling with a trunk not wider than Eskel’s forearm. He watched, curious and strangely numb at the same time, as the wolf circled the young tree. The beast carefully eyed it from top to bottom and then opened its jaw wide to bite down on the trunk.

Then it pulled the whole damn thing out of the ground with one powerful heave.

Eskel blinked, not sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Apparently just uprooting a tree wasn’t enough. Next the wolf went into a frenzy. It bit and scratched at the trunk, shaking its head as if the tree was a deer's leg that he wanted to separate. Fur and pine needles flew everywhere as it growled and fought the damn thing for who knows how long. 

The whole episode was bizarre and Eskel found himself just staring in confusion. Behind him he could hear the horses wake, neighing and stamping their hooves in alarm. But they were tied up already and unlikely to do damage to themselves. Not that Eskel had the energy to deal with them anyways.

When the wolf stopped its thrashing, there were splinters stuck to its lips and pine needles, sap, and snow on its fur. But the tree was nothing more than a pile of manageable branches and broken logs. The wolf then proceeded to pick up the broken off bits and carry them to the clearing Eskel was still standing in, staring stupidly.

He watched the growing pile of…firewood? And the wolf that kept trotting to and from, bringing in every last branch and piece until there was a pile of wood waist high.

Such fresh wood wouldn’t burn well, Eskel knew, but his Igni was powerful enough to set it ablaze anyway.

“Thanks, wolf,” he said numbly. Or at least, he thought he said the words. He could have just breathed them out, too. It was hard to tell. Eskel couldn’t really feel anything anymore. But the wolf pointed its ears towards him, so hopefully it got the message.

He shook his head again to clear it and then deeply regretted that action as a fresh wave of dizziness flowed through him. After a few deep breaths and several very long blinks, Eskel summoned up the last of his strength and cast Igni on the pile of wood. 

The conflagration lit up the wood with gratifying quickness. Which was just as well, because as soon as the sign was cast, Eskel dropped to his knees. Black spots danced before his eyes, a stark contrast to the blindingly bright fire that burned in front of him. His stomach rolled. His mouth was so dry. So very dry. 

There was fur at his side and a burning hot lick on his scarred cheek. 

He blinked again. The warmth from the fire was starting to bring back just a touch of feeling, and that feeling was absolute spine melting pain. Fiery pins and needles started to prickle at his exposed skin and he knew damn well that it would only get worse. 

With a ridiculous amount of effort, he fumbled at the latch to his cloak and let it fall down behind him. Then he worked on his various belts and weapon harnesses. Each one felt like it weighed as much as a thousand gold bars and he needed it off of him. Immediately. 

Somewhere in the process, Eskel had slouched down and shoved his wet feet in front of him. Boots next. 

Getting the boots off was frustratingly difficult and the pain was starting to get worse. Blinding, almost. Eskel just closed his eyes and felt around his gear with his one working hand. All witchers were trained in blind fighting. Each one of them knew their own equipment well enough to take it apart in the dark, let alone just take it off. There was no sense in dealing with the stabbing pain to his temple that the fire light caused him. 

Eventually the boots came off. There was the sound of sloshing water but Eskel couldn’t feel it at all. All he felt was the burning of his frozen skin starting to wake up again. He was in agony.

Socks came off next. Those dropped with a sodden squish onto the ground. Eskel put his feet towards the fire and struggled with his armored top.

That was where his strength finally failed him. The intense heat from the massive fire in front of him was enough to finally seep into his shoulder and it blazed with pain. That’s when he remembered how injured it was, cut open and bleeding, likely filled with dirt, river water, and muck. Then it had sat, openly weeping, while Eskel had walked for what was probably hours. 

He barely got his armored top unbuckled before he fell onto his side, curled up in torment. Hot, pulsing stabs of pain shot through his side. All he could do was grit his teeth and breathe as shallowly as possible. Anything to help ease the pain.

The world spun for a moment.

When he blinked again, he realized there was fur on him. All around him, in fact. Eskel had just enough strength to tilt his head up and take a look.

The wolf had laid down next to him, cuddled up to his side much like it had with Geralt earlier. Now Eskel was sandwiched between the inferno like heat of the fire and the equally blazing warmth of the wolf’s body. One front paw was even over his torso, holding him close to the beast’s warm chest. That vicious looking mouth was just inches away from Eskel’s face.

He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a pained croak. The shivers had started to come back and each one hurt like lightning. From this distance he could see the splinters that were still stuck in the wolf’s lips and the dirt that covered its beautiful light grey pelt. Despite what had happened with Geralt, Eskel felt sort of bad for the wolf, all hurt and filthy. 

“Sorry about messing you up, wolf.” The words were barely a whisper, and so rough that they hardly qualified as language. He tried to gesture towards the wolf’s mouth and fur, but could only manage a twitch of his hand. 

The wolf whined, soft and low, and licked at his cheek. Its ears drooped down a bit and it pulled him closer with its paw. 

He needed to sleep, to meditate and heal. In addition to the pain of the frostbite and thaw, the broken ribs and concussion, and the bitten and ripped up shoulder, Eskel also felt the hard clench in his torso. It was the vile, sick feeling that always came with a toxicity overdose, like every single one of his internal organs was trying to pump out fire instead of blood. 

But before he could close his gritty eyes, he had to ask, “Geralt’s getting taken care of, right?” 

He hoped. He had to hope that no matter what it looked like, with demons hauling Geralt off into the woods, that the wolf’s helpful nature held true. That wherever Geralt was he was warm and safe and being healed. 

The wolf tilted its head so that it was looking Eskel right in the eye, and nodded. 

Then the world fell away, and darkness took over. 

\--

Warm. 

Eskel was warm. 

His whole body still pulsed with pain, but it was a smoldering throb rather than a sharp stab. The warmth went a long way to encouraging him to ignore everything and just stay still. He kept his breathing slow and steady and tried to gather his wits.

Slowly, he became aware of his body beyond the sensations of warmth and pain. His ribs ached when he breathed but it was tolerable. Probably wouldn’t be once he tried to move, but at the moment it wasn’t bad. The shoulder that had been bit and dislocated felt swollen and tender and it throbbed a bit in time with his heart. His stomach still felt like he’d swallowed hot coals but there weren’t any active cramps, which was a blessing. 

The heat all around him was glorious. The scent of fire and wood smoke mingled with the scent of fur and frost, as well as a hint of blood. 

He wiggled his fingers and toes, just a tiny bit, and was thrilled and relieved to note that he still could. No digits lost to frostbite was a definite win in his book.

That was when he noticed just how soft everything around him was. Like he was wrapped in a massive, weighted, bear skin rug. One that was moving slowly, just a gentle shift in time with his own breath. 

Then he realized that the soft blanket he was wrapped in was touching an awful lot of skin. His thoughts grinded to a halt as he tried to puzzle that out and his brow wrinkled up with the effort. 

Something wet and chilly touched his cheek.

Eskel pried open his puffy, tired eyes, only to find himself face to snout with the wolf. It was laying down right on top of him. His head and shoulders were framed by it’s massive front legs, and he could feel himself curled up into the beast’s underbelly. 

He blinked.

There was an awful lot of fur against his skin.

In fact, there was an awful lot of fur covering _most_ of his skin. Because he was _naked_. 

He squirmed a bit and then fought back a gasp of pain. Moving was a mistake. A very, very big mistake. Because the moment he tried to shift, all of his partially healed broken bones, bruises, and lacerations screamed at him. His body lit up with agony for a moment. He closed his eyes, and froze, trying to slowly relax his muscles and get back to that nice, passive hurting. 

After a few careful breaths, he swallowed dryly and opened his eyes again. Those golden wolf eyes were still looking at him with concern. 

Eskel blinked stupidly for a moment. He tilted his head just a touch and looked towards the fire. It had burnt down a fair amount; all of the small branches and needles had long since burned off, leaving only the larger logs and branches still flaming. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like there were additional logs that had been tossed on too. All of Eskel’s clothing and armor had been hung on sticks next to it as well, drying out against the flame.

“How...the fuck…” he rasped out. 

Was he hallucinating? Because he sort of felt like he was hallucinating. 

He was naked, half buried under a magic wolf who had ripped up a tree with its mouth, broken it up, and somehow managed to undress him and hang all his clothes up to dry. That was after he watched the wolf summon demons to haul off one of his closest friends. 

Eskel blinked a few more times and looked back up at the wolf. It just swiveled its ears towards him attentively and licked his cheek. 

“I’m not…” He had to pause to swallow again. His throat was still awfully dry but that sort of felt like a petty complaint, given the circumstances. “I’m not gonna say that this is the strangest day I’ve ever had. Because it’s not. But it certainly ranks up near the top.”

That earned him a little huff of amusement and another lick on his cheek. 

He dared a look down. What little of his chest and shoulders he could see wasn’t particularly pleasant. Deep purple and yellow half healed bruises covered most of him and that wolf’s bite on his shoulder was bound to leave a rather impressive scar. 

Another for the collection. 

“You’re not some kind of werewolf, are you?” Eskel asked, raising an eyebrow to the wolf. Not that he was worried about the bite; despite popular superstition, werewolves were the result of a curse. But it would explain the undressing and the drying of his clothes.

The wolf snorted and rolled its eyes.

“Huh. That’s a no, then.”

Eskel was drifting off and waking; the ache of his body wouldn’t let him fall completely asleep. The warmth of the fire and the soft heat of the wolf over him were still sending him off to dreamland though. He tried to keep track of time, of the light, but his eyelids were so heavy. 

He shouldn't have trusted the wolf, shouldn't have let himself feel safe in his presence, but there wasn’t much more he could be risking. Without the wolf, he would have died. With him, he was going to survive. There was no use in worrying about things he couldn't change. So he accepted his unlikely companion and decided to worry about finding Geralt and getting some answers out of him later. He would heal. Then he would get down this godforsaken mountain and find Ciri. She would be able to find Geralt, he was sure.

Sometime after dawn he fell into a deep sleep, losing track of his surroundings completely. So completely in fact, he jerked awake only when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The light of the setting sun blinded him, reflecting off the white hair directly in his line of sight. He blinked and tried to get his eyes to focus, his pupils stinging as they contracted.

“Good to see you alive.” 

Geralt. 

It was Geralt. Alive and looking unfairly young as he stared down at Eskel with eyes curled up into a smile. Not only did he look ridiculously healthy, but even his _gear_ looked to be in perfect repair. Did the demons have a tailor on staff?

Eskel rubbed his eyes and groaned, noting that he was wrapped up in his blanket and his cloak. He was still nude under that, which was interesting. The fire next to him had burnt down to something more campfire like, rather than the raging bonfire it was when Eskel passed out.

No wolf anywhere, though. 

He blinked again and looked Geralt up and down, glaring.

“What the fuck,” Eskel said flatly. Granted, he was mostly happy that the wolf had been around to help out, but that still didn’t change the fact that Eskel was very confused about what was going on. Since that confusion involved demons, too, Eskel figured he was entitled some kind of explanation. 

Geralt had the grace to look abashed.

“Er...” was all that Geralt said though, and Eskel scowled.

Of course.

Eskel covered his face with his hands and sighed. “Two weeks from now I get answers, right?”

“I swear,” Geralt said, jumping onto the chance Eskel gave him. “I will explain everything. Just…” He looked around the little camp and the remnants of the bonfire. Then back to Eskel, eyes lingering on his ripped up shoulder. It was healing well, but the fact he didn't have the time or resources to properly clean it before the tissues knitted together, meant he was now in possession of a completely new array of gnarly scars. They framed his shoulder in an unmistakable pattern. 

“He bit you?” Geralt motioned to the fresh scarring.

“He stopped me from falling down to the river with you.” Eskel lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. “Turns out no matter how special he is, thumbs are still pretty great.”

Geralt gave him another smile. “It’s good one of us remained conscious. Otherwise we would have both died from the cold.”

That made Eskel snort in amusement. “Would take more than that to kill us.” It was bravado and he knew it, but better to keep thinking like that. Keep going, no matter what. 

“I can’t believe a bunch of harpies almost got us.” Geralt shook his head. Eskel felt kind of grumpy at how well healed he seemed. “Harpies.”

“Eh, could have been worse. At least they’re monsters. We could have fallen down some stairs,” Eskel said absently, already working through the harpy problem in his head. After all this, those damn things _needed_ to die. He was going to take great personal satisfaction in it. 

An idea immediately came to mind, and a slow grin slid across Eskel’s face. “So….how do you feel about fire bomb launchers?”

Geralt grinned back at him, toothy and bloodthirsty.

“I feel mighty good about them.”

 

The End.


End file.
